


Iubit

by passcrow



Category: Dracula (TV 2020), Dracula BBC - Fandom, Dracula Netflix - Fandom
Genre: Blood Play, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-13
Updated: 2020-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:26:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22245559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/passcrow/pseuds/passcrow
Summary: “Please.” It was the English that battered her resolve, but the kiss that broke it. “Please.”
Relationships: Dracula/Zoe Van Helsing
Comments: 7
Kudos: 112





	Iubit

“No.” The abrupt shift of her tone was so recognizable, the arched and accented slap of a single syllable that resonated with the past. Dracula froze above her, an involuntary whimper breaking his chest on a breath he didn’t need. Zoe smiled and stretched beneath him, her body languid as she bared her neck even further. “I do not give you permission.”

“I don’t need it.” Dracula licked the words into the arch of her jaw, but he didn’t bite. Didn’t nip even though she could feel the ragged edges of his teeth against her skin.

“And yet—“ He growled at the tease in her tone, frustrated and nearly drowning in the smell and feel of her warm body as she wrapped herself around him. She scratched into his shoulders, anchoring her nails into his cool flesh as she lifted herself to kiss him.

Her tongue was warm on his jaw, slick and sweet. She licked entrance between his lips, his entire body pinned still, hands easily shredding the sheets as he curled his claws into them. “Here we are.”

“You put too much trust—“

“I put no trust in you.” She bit him, his blood flooding her mouth like centuries old wine, mossy and rich and full. She could taste his history against his skin, taste the lives he had taken. A thousand voices suddenly chattered inside her head, a dozen different languages all blurred and sighing together as she lapped at him. He was breathing regularly now, ragged tidal pulls of air that whined between his clenched teeth.

“Agatha.”

“Zoe.” She corrected. “You killed Agatha.” But her voice was more Agatha than Zoe, the accent ringing clear as she arched up against him, the warmth of her body a balm to his cold skin. “Did you fuck her first?”

Dracula refused to answer, his teeth bitten painfully together, jaw aching with the pressure of holding control. His eyes were blood flooded and pained as he tipped his head to the side and studied the flush of her throat, watched the throb of her pulse. Her lips were covered with his blood, the dark liquid shining like jeweled night on her fair skin. “Did you?”

Dracula growled and twisted up onto his knees, pulling Zoe up with him. His strength was inhuman, complete. She knew that he could do whatever he wished with her. That knowledge and the remaining fog of his blood in her brain had her laughing. Panic and lust and power tipping her over the edge into maniacal giggles.

“This is madness.” He hissed the words through his teeth, not trusting himself, shocked at the way she cuddled into his chest. She sucked at the corded lines of his neck, settling herself in his lap with a movement that made them both hiss. He could smell the sudden taint of her blood in the air, aware as she settled onto his length that she wasn’t wet enough. “Zoe—“

“It’s fine.” The smell of her blood eroded at him, at his control, his concentration. He was aware that they had switched languages somewhere, that it was his native tongue he was mumbling against her skin, eyes still fixed on the throb of her throat even as he tried to gentle the thrusts he was leading into her body.

She clutched at him, oblivious to how fragile she was, how hard it was for him to hold her safely in his crushing grip. The arch of her neck was pale in the rush of almost daylight from the window, the moon preparing to cede the playing field to the sun that he could feel rising. “I’m fine.”  
She was more than fine. She was transcendent, her body a warm flame of humanity backed by the promise of the rising sun.

“Beloved.” Dracula breathed the word into the side of her neck, teeth scraping at her pulse point, his eyes red with blood that tainted at sudden tears, rust sliding his cheeks as he forced himself to kiss her gently. “I’ve waited so long for you.” He explored her mouth, tasting himself on her, getting an echo of the voices that had swamped her.

Control. He was in control. It didn’t matter that she was writhing against him, impatient with his slowness, giddy with the high of second hand immortality, drunk off his blood. Control. It was slipping. The taste of his own blood made him nauseous but Dracula chewed at his lips, ragged teeth shredding at his skin instead of ripping out her throat. Her long, pale throat, neck arched back in unworried bliss as she rode him towards her own selfish end.

He was losing himself, the veneer of decades being worn away by the rocking of her hips, the rush of her breath. “Please.”

“No.” The sound of him begging made her come with a flash of exquisite heat and tightness that drenched between them. The air was full of her scent, her blood, her lust. The fucking smell of oranges and marjoram that lingered in her hair.  
Dracula growled, a pained whine trapped somewhere in his chest as he tipped her back into the mattress and rose over her, his own end broken and painful, nearly cold in comparison. His hands bruised against her hips and he went grave still.

“Ma omoara!” Zoe came again, shuddering into his stillness and nipping at the underside of his jaw, vaguely aware that she had to mentally translate his words again. “Te rog, te rog, lasa-ma. Zoe, te rog.” His eyes were scarlet and weeping, the tears a play of rust down his haggard and thinned cheeks.

“You beg like a peasant.” His orgasm had done nothing to sate him, she could see it in the starved pale of his face, age somehow creeping across his angular features even as she watched him. “It is something you are not good at.” She lied.

“Please.” It was the English that battered her resolve, but the kiss that broke it. “Please.” He licked the word into her lips, gently parting them even though his entire form vibrated with want. To bite and plunder, to taste and hurt, to glut himself on her, to absorb her. To know everything about her, her sins, her desires.

“This is not permission.” Agatha was back in her voice, just a hint, an added warning as she kissed him back, purposely running her tongue along the sharp points of his teeth. “This is pity.”  
Permission, reward, or pity, Dracula didn’t care which as the taste of her filled him. Warmed him. He sucked at the small wound, gently using his teeth against her flesh, biting a bit harder when she didn’t chastise him for the minute loss of control. “Even the devil deserves pity.”

“Parsley.” He murmured, drunk on the taste of her, his body warming as her story wrote itself into his DNA. “And coriander.” There was still a taint to her, a spoiled flavor that could be the remnants of the cancer or the rotten residue of his own blood. “You taste like home.” He broke the kiss, a lazy note to his voice now even as his body still trembled for more, his hunger not even close to satisfied. He lapped at her throat, tracing the arteries and veins there, marking their placement with harmless nips of his teeth. “Iubit.” He had kissed the word into her skin before, tongue tracing the same sensitive area of flesh that shifted with her pulse. She shivered as he rested his body flat against hers, his eyes closed, chest unmoving. _Beloved_.

**Author's Note:**

> So, that happened.
> 
> It’s been a while since I’ve written anything, let me know what you think.
> 
> Ma omoara: It’s killing me  
> Te rog, te rog, lasa-ma. Zoe, te rog: Please, please, let me Zoe, please.
> 
> Iubit: Beloved


End file.
